


a soul like silver (tarnished)

by rachel614



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Horcruxes, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25898542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachel614/pseuds/rachel614
Summary: There was no going back, no removal of the mark on his arm nor the stain of the Unforgivables from his mind and heart._________Regulus Black, in 1979.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Kreacher
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	a soul like silver (tarnished)

In late August, 1979, Regulus Black turned 17, and took the Mark.

  
  


He was fresh out of Hogwarts, still filled with youthful fervor and idle dreams of a glorious war. The next two months swiftly, abruptly, took every one of those dreams and ground them into dust.

It was with slow, dawning horror that Regulus discovered that he, the scion of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, pride of his parents, possessor of a pureblood lineage ancient and dark—he, Regulus Arcturus Black,  _ hated dark magic _ . The dark spells that crossed his lips—the other Death Eaters spoke of the Unforgivables in whispers  _ ah, the Imperius Curse like honeyed wine coating your throat _ and  _ the Cruciatus is a melody, the screams such sweet music _ and  _ the Curse of Death— _

The Curse of Death, he knew, was meant to be like a lover’s ecstasy, but no one ever spoke of it. It was too secret, too personal a pleasure.

Regulus had never had a lover. But the Imperius tasted more like dust and ashes than his father’s brandy, and the Cruciatus set his teeth on edge and made him want to weep for different reasons than had the orchestra his mother hired for his thirteenth birthday.

He cast the spells perfectly, precisely, because he was a Black and  _ Blacks did not fail _ but he lived in secret, horrified agony at the thought that soon he would be asked to perform the third Unforgivable and he did not think he could do it.

He was more afraid that he could.

*****

When the summons came, he went before his master with a calm mind and an empty heart. He knew, he  _ knew _ this would be the night, and he would either pass the test or fail and die. There was no going back, no removal of the mark on his arm nor the stain of the Unforgivables from his mind and heart.

“Young Regulus,” his Master said softly. They were alone. “I am told you possess a creature of servitude, what the common call a house elf.”

This—this was not what he was expecting. Trembling, Regulus called Kreacher to his side, and told him, “Obey the Dark Lord as you would me for this night. Return to me when you have completed his mission.”

He went home, went into the library, and stoked the fire high. He could not stop shivering.  _ Why, _ he asked himself,  _ do I feel as though I have cast the Curse of Death? _

No lover’s kiss was this, unless it be a kiss of death to the soul.

Was it the Dark Lord’s thin smile? His lack of anger, that Regulus had laid a limit on Kreacher’s time, rather than offer the elf wholly to his Master’s service? Or the glint in his eyes, the gentle amusement when Regulus had said  _ return to me?  _ Because the Dark Lord knew, as Regulus now knew, that this was a task from which there would be no returning.

But return Kreacher did, the old elf hardly recognizable from the proud creature who had once raised him—telling him stories, sneaking him treats, hiding him from his parents when they fought—

Blinded by tears Regulus cast every healing spell he knew, forced healing potions down the elf’s throat, commanded,  _ ordered  _ him to stay alive.

At the cusp of dawn, after a long tale drawn out in tears and wailing, he begged the elf’s forgiveness and sent him to bed.

Kreacher had been delirious, his tale interspersed with wailing at  _ the hands the hands _ or  _ thirst Kreacher is so thirsty  _ but he’d said enough for Regulus to piece together what had happened. A sea cave, a blood sacrifice, an eerie green lake. A terrible potion that had been forced down Kreacher’s throat, the Dark Lord watching in distant satisfaction. A locket—a beautiful locket with Slytherin’s crest that Kreacher had described at length with a sort of fixated fascination—placed in a basin and covered with more of the  _ awful horrible potion _ and then—

And then the Dark Lord had left, leaving Kreacher behind to crawl to the edge of the lake and slake his terrible thirst, only for the  _ the hands the hands _ to reach out and grasp him and pull him down—

Gasping, Regulus wrenched his mind away from the awful horror. He staggered over to a hidden cabinet, trembling fingers pouring whiskey in a tumbler, splashing it, seeking numbness.

Over and over again, he heard Kreacher’s words, a single phrase from a long night of distraught ramblings that had caught his attention and tied it— _ his hairy heart, his awful hairy heart— _

He remembered that story, one of many Kreacher had whispered to him. Sirius had hated it, but the macabre old tale had been Kreacher’s favorite. Seeking immortality, the dark wizard had torn out his own heart and hidden it; hidden with it his very humanity.

Seeking immortality…

Regulus’s head began to spin, but he knew, just as he’d known that the Dark Lord had intended for Kreacher to die, that he’d stumbled upon the Dark Lord’s greatest secret.

*****

The Black library was old, and filled with books, some of which Regulus had never dared open before.

He read them now, his days taken up in a feverish search, looking for any scraps of knowledge that might prove what he suspected. His mother, upon inquiring why he had ceased to go out, was thrilled to hear that her son was doing research for the Dark Lord. To his horror, she revealed to him a secret set of shelves, one containing books whose contents surpassed everything he’d yet read. He pushed aside this latest horror, as he pushed aside everything else; he was a Black and he would  _ not _ allow his emotions to get in the way.

Naturally, it was here on these shelves that he found his answer.

_...a willful act of death will cause an opening, if you will, in the soul… _

_...with great care this part of the soul may be extracted... _

_ … while the vessel remains intact the wizard will be preserved from all the woes of man: grief, sorrow, illness, pain, and even death… _

Between the lines Regulus read the truth of the thing: he had sworn his loyalty to a monster, a wizard who had dared to  _ fracture his own soul _ .

And so long as the wizard’s hairy heart remained hidden, he would be free from death—but also all human feeling; all sorrow and remorse.

Regulus set his affairs in order quietly, as he had done most things in his life. He procured a facsimile of Slytherin’s locket—oh, that the founder's heirloom should be so fouled!—and enclosed within a painstakingly written note.

He called Kreacher to him and—

******

In mid December, 1979, it became known in certain circles that Regulus Black was missing, presumed dead. 

The whispers varied, but the prevailing rumor was that he’d tried to flee the Dark Lord’s service, and been killed for his trouble—killed, the story went, by the Dark Lord himself.

If this was true, the Dark Lord kept his counsel, but in the following days his less fervent followers remembered Regulus Black, and thought twice of abandoning their master.

Whatever the cause, Walberga Black had shut herself up in her grief, and her cavernous house bore the heavy trappings of mourning.

Sirius, when he heard the news, went to his room and transformed into Padfoot. When he emerged late the following day, his eyes were clear and hard, and no one dared comment. This was war, and there could be no grieving for the other side.

**Author's Note:**

> my current big WIP is a monster canon divergance/revergance fic focused on Severus Snape.  
> This was part of fixing a Snape-shaped hole left in canon, and, well, Regulus sort of stole my attention and ran away with it. With minor edits this was postable as a stand-alone, so here you go :)


End file.
